To me, cilantro tastes like soap.
To you, the stuff’s ambrosial.
I sniff a rose – Mmm, cantaloupe! –
but if it meets your nose, you’ll
just shrug and mutter, Nothing. Nope.
My eyes make out a grayish smear
Where yours see pill directions.
I say a lot that you don’t hear,
and yet your bird detection’s
clear proof you’ve got the better ear.
These differences – and there are more! –
can be a bit annoying
(who wants a partner to abhor
the thing that they’re enjoying,
or show their faculties are poor?)
but still, I’m grateful as can be:
with us, the higher senses –
of humor, of morality,
of what a dumb expense is –
are as alike as pea and pea,
so when you miss my dinner call
or I taste herb detergents,
I know – since opposites enthrall –
that, absent such divergence,
we might not be in love at all.